


the one thing you could not save

by LearnedFoot



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23289745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: She finds him sitting on the edge of a world, staring across the star plains of Traxilar.Or: The Master wants to say goodbye. As if the Doctor would let him.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 145
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	the one thing you could not save

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oneatatime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/gifts).



She finds him sitting on the edge of a world, staring across the star plains of Traxilar.

“Flat planet,” she says cheerfully, joining him, legs dangling over the endless drop. “Very cool.” He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge her. “So what’s the plan, then? Throw yourself over?” Still nothing, not that she needs him to say anything. She already knows the answers. “Points for style, but it’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

He finally turns his eyes on her, scathing: how dare she mock him? As if he hadn’t dragged her here himself, scattering a scavenger hunt across her timeline to draw her to his final resting spot.

Which is to say: yes, melodramatic. More than a bit.

“How did you think it was going to go?” she chides, unbothered by his silent reproach. “They’re Cybermen. That alliance was never going to last. You didn’t have to make this big production out of it. All that time spent sprinkling little clues for me, you could’ve just found a cure.”

“You think I didn’t try?” His voice is raspy, nearly spent, but the fire is still there, eager to prove her wrong one last time. “There is no cure. The radiation is in my bones. I can feel it, Doctor, breaking me apart, cell by cell. No regeneration, no escape. The last chapter in the life of the great Master.”

Bitter. As if he believes he’s finally reached his end. She wonders: is he starting to regret?

“Sounds painful,” she says, letting sympathy into her voice. She means it: sympathy not just for this particular suffering, but all of it. Even if he does not regret, yet, _she_ does, every mistake—hers, his, their people’s—that had led him here, under the impression that this is what it takes to get her attention. “So why prolong the agony? Why wait for me?”

“Because,” he spits, “I wanted you to see. You failed. All that time spent trying to save me, and I was the one thing you could not save.”

He holds himself straighter at the end of that little speech, forcing down the pain to lift his chin, as if he’s scored a point.

That, she did not expect. She laughs, the kind of laugh that starts from deep within, uncontrolled; she doesn’t mean to, but it’s unavoidable, when he’s being so absurd. His expression—taken aback, disgusted that she would have the audacity to ruin this moment—just makes her laugh harder.

“You know that isn’t true,” she explains when she gets herself under control. “I’ve failed to save millions before this. You _know_ that. Even you aren’t self-deluded enough to think that’s really why you called me here. You wanted to say goodbye.”

He collapses in on himself, deflated, as if her words are a slap. But it’s not a recoil: the movement brings him closer, a lurch forward, and then he’s in her arms, letting her hold his head against her chest. He trembles there, in her embrace. Maybe even cries, but she doesn’t check; she’s pushed far enough, no need to let him know she sees that, too. He does know, of course, knows she sees everything, but he’ll lie to himself that she doesn’t, and that lie she can let stand. For now.

She runs the fingers of one hand through his hair, pleasant and distracting. Let him enjoy the comfort, for this moment he believes is the end: willing, for once, to take what she has always offered.

With her other hand, she carefully pulls a small needle from her pocket, and navigates it to his neck.

“You knew you wanted to say goodbye,” she says conversationally. “Consciously.”

A jab, a push, and it’s done. He jolts away, hand coming to his neck.

“What did you—?” he growls, but she can already see the realization dawn.

“ _Consciously_ ,” she continues. Tenderly, she reaches out, pulling his hand from his neck so she can place a bandage there, blotting a pinprick of blood. “Subconsciously? I think you knew I wouldn’t come here without the cure.”

His hand lands on top of hers; his lips twitch, wanting to form a smile. He doesn’t let them, but that’s okay. Another day.

“You win,” he finally whispers, slumping away from her touch, gaze falling to the ground, as if he’s submitting to a triumphing warlord. “How do you always win?”

Still melodramatic. She smiles for the both of them, genuinely amused.

“I did just save your life. Can’t we put this one down in the ‘both win’ column?”

This time, when his eyes meet hers, there is no anger in them, not even pain. He’s grateful, and for a fleeting moment, he lets her see it.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, but all the venom is gone.

“Oh, I think we could have loads of fun.” She nods at the TARDIS, standing twenty feet off. “Fancy a ride out of here?”

He won’t be able to bring himself to actually say the word _yes_ , so she jumps to her feet, bounding off to her craft. Give him a minute, he’ll follow.

Maybe—dare to dream—this will even be the time he stays.


End file.
